


The Plural of Kismesis

by saffronHeliotrope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saffronHeliotrope/pseuds/saffronHeliotrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe you’re keyed up from blackflirting with Equius, maybe you’re horny because TZ has been so wrapped up in her new kismesissitude lately, but you find yourself admiring the way Roxy's short skirt rides high up the backs of those thighs. <i>Steady on, Captor, you can’t have everybody,</i> you tell yourself.</p><p>A traitorous little voice in your head says, <i>why not?<i></i></i><br/> <br/>Jegus fuck, you need to get laid.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plural of Kismesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inklesspen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inklesspen/gifts).



 

The bar’s neon light illuminates the whole street with its fluttering blue heartbeat, on, off, on, off, almost in time with the thudding of the music pumping from inside. Above the door, a cerulean hydra flickers and writhes in crude neon animation, outlining and muddling the shapes of the trolls who spill out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. The air is two-thirds cigarette smoke and the rest raucous laughter.

It’s a dive and no mistake, popular with midbloods, far enough from your usual haunts to give your stomach an acid edge of adrenaline. And as the three of you stand in an awkward cluster across the street, it looks increasingly like your plans for the evening are going straight to shit.

Roxy frowns down at her phone, its glow illuminating her face. In shadow, Equius is a stiff awkward hulk, arms crossed. Tonight’s bar-crawl was Vriska and Terezi’s big idea, a Scourge Sisters reunion blowout, though TZ assured you that out-of-control revenge cycles would be minimal. The fact that it turned into such a group outing was the only reason you agreed to come out tonight in the first place -- that, and the fact that TZ is New Earth’s most eligible diamond bachelor for the fifth sweep running, and she needs someone to look out for her when Vriska is around, as queasy-making quadrant-smeary as that may be.

And there’s another reason that you’ll barely admit to yourself: you agreed once you heard that Nepeta and Equius were coming, because you might -- you just might -- be nursing a tiny pitch-crush on the sweaty mountain of awkward who is currently staring off down the street, as if his sheer disapproval could make Nepeta appear out of the shadows. Douche.

Your palmhusk buzzes in your hand, and you swipe the screen on to pesterchum. “1 4M SORRY, MY 4PPL3B3RRY D3L1GHT, BUT SOM3TH1NG H4S COM3 UP! 1T 1S SQU1RMY 4ND SHOCK1NGLY R3D 4ND 4TT4CH3D TO 4 SHORT LOUD NUBBY-HORN3D” followed by a string of keysmash that you can only interpret as Karkat grabbing the phone and throwing it against the wall. You sigh in irritation and send “diidn’t need two hear the detaiil2, thank2” and put your palmhusk away. You’re happy to see your matesprit in the flower of first hate but honestly you’re looking forward to the point when things settle down between her and KK.

“Well, that does it,” says Roxy, turning her phone so you can see. Her screen says, “Just found better people. L8r, losers! Don’t w8 up!!!!!!!!”

Equius is slipping his palmhusk into his pocket. “Nepeta has declined as well,” he says in a low rumble.

“Well, this is turning out to be a spectacular waste,” you say. “I’m going home.”

“Hang on!” says Roxy. “We came all the way here, so let’s at least check it out, huh? I mean, live music, cheap beer, looks like a total dump and we might get killed. Fun, right?”

Her eyes are big and hopeful-bright and you can’t tell if she’s serious or not. You’re about to make an excuse when Equius steps in with a pompous frown. “I don’t think that would be advisable,” he rumbles. “I don’t like the look of this place.”

Irritation floods up inside you. “Afraid of sullying ourselves with a little slumming, are we, EQ? You don’t want to run the risk of contaminating your person through contact with lowbloods?”

He scowls at you and it’s like a rough edge against a raw nerve. “No, I never said anything of the sort,” he says. “But I don’t think any of us would be welcome here. Roxy is a human, I’m obviously more blue than most of the clientele, and you’re -- you are --”

A drop of sweat runs down his temple, and you show him all your teeth. “Fuck that noise right in the goddamn ear, you throwback,” you snarl. “Nobody cares about the hemospectrum anymore but you. C’mon, Rox. I’m game if you are.”

She’s been watching the exchange back and forth between you like an armagedminton match. “Sweet,” she says, eyes honest-to-god twinkling. “Plus, don’t the two of you average out to turquoise or so? You’ll totally fit in.”

“That’s... that’s not how it...” Equius protests, but Roxy is already headed across the street. You cock an eyebrow at him and follow her. He trails behind you, and a little thrill of gratification makes its way up your spine. Score one.

Heads turn toward you as you get closer to the door. You may talk a big game, but you have to admit that you don’t much like the looks on the faces of the trolls standing around when they catch sight of your symbol. But you’re sure as shit not going to let a human show you up in the globes division, and it’s not like you can’t take care of yourself.

The bouncer is a burly olive-blood with a low-set, forward-pointing rack of horns, and she eyes the three of you levelly as you push through the teeming crowd on the sidewalk. “Hi,” says Roxy cheerfully. “We’re friends of Vriska Serket’s.”

For a second you think the bouncer is going to call bullshit and chuck the three of you out. Instead she growls at you, “This ain’t no auspistice bar. Try the Trefoil a few blocks over if that’s what yer after.”

Behind you, Equius splutters.

“No worries on that front,” you say before he can pipe up and get the three of you booted. The bouncer looks from your symbol to your face and sneers.

“Fine,” she says. “No trouble. And no lightshows neither, kid.”

You sneer back at her with as much fang as won’t get you punched, neglecting to mention that if you really chose, you could detonate this shithole and every ugly idiot inside, and nobody could stop you. Instead you follow Roxy inside.

“Hilarious that she thought we were an auspithingamajig,” says Roxy over her shoulder as she pushes past a couple noisily making out against the wall. “As if I’d ever break the two of you up if you started going at it. Hell, I’d bring the popcorn.”

The thought makes something inside you shiver. You glance back at Equius, and he looks away from you just as quickly.

Holy shit. You might actually score here.

The bar is a steaming crush of trolls and the occasional human. On a stage in the back, the members of a mediocre thrash-rock band are slamming away at their instruments, long hair flying. Roxy gives a whoop and a _hell yes!_ and wades into the crowd in the direction of the bar. You look up at Equius, whose face is a disapproving mask behind his dark glasses.

He shoves off in the direction of a nearby table, whose current occupants take one look at him and decide that there’s somewhere else they need to be. You have to fight down a nasty grin. He’s a disgusting disaster but he sure is an imposing fucker when he wants to be.

And maybe, just maybe, he sees you as a worthy rival. Shit. The idea makes your horns prickle.

When you catch up with Roxy, she’s on tiptoes and bent halfway over the bar, hollering at the bartender over the music. Maybe you’re keyed up from blackflirting with Equius, maybe you’re horny because TZ has been so wrapped up in her new kismesissitude lately, but you find yourself admiring the way her short skirt rides high up the backs of those thighs. _Steady on, Captor, you can’t have everybody,_ you tell yourself.

A traitorous little voice in your head says, _why not?_

Jegus fuck, you need to get laid.

Roxy turns to see you and her face lights up with a grin. She presses a shot-glass into your hand. You sniff the clear liquor inside and nearly incinerate the inside of your nose.

“What the fuck even _is_ this, rocket fuel?”

“Just for you, Duracell! Bottoms up!” she says, and downs her shot. You watch the movement of her throat for a moment, and then knock yours back as well. Your eyes swim for a few seconds. The alcohol and sugar burn all the way up to your horns, and you keep a damper on any actual sparks with a bit of effort.

She’s watching you closely, and you smack your shot glass down on the bar. “Let’s make it two,” you say. She laughs and orders more.

You’re jostling each other playfully by the time you maneuver back to Equius. Roxy seems to enjoy seeing how many times she can elbow you in the grubscars before you spill the drinks you’re carrying, and she dances easily out of the way when you try to trip her. Equius has commandeered a booth with plush beasthide benches, and he scowls at you as you deposit the drinks on the table, almost not sloshing them over their rims. Almost.

“Isn’t this great?” shouts Roxy over the music as she slides in beside Equius on the bench.

“If terrible music and terrible drinks are your idea of great, then yes, it’s great,” you say, shoving a mug of fermented-sugardrink across to Equius. You got him a particularly shitty kind on purpose. “By which I mean that your taste really fucking sucks.”

Roxy sporfles into her glass. “And yet here you are,” she says.

“Yeah, well,” you say. “Had to make sure you didn’t get your vulnerable little human guts plastered all over the wall because some monster of a tealblood decided they didn’t like your face.”

“Shut it, sparkplug. I can so take care of myself, you have no idea.”

“Hark at the grub. Charmed her way into a troll bar and now thinks she’s a badass.”

“Yeah, well at least I got us in. You would have turned right around and slunk on home to your computers to avoid the social interaction. Which, I know, terrifying, right? I mean, I feel for you, I super do, having to talk to people and all.”

There’s a teasing glitter in her eyes and you fish an ice cube out of your drink and wing it at her. She bats it out of the air, laughing. Equius glares at both of you. You’re feeling a little giddy on the shots and Roxy’s snide laughter, and you flick your wet fingers at him. “Your face is going to get stuck that way,” you say. “Didn’t your lusus teach you that?”

“You’re acting like a wiggler,” he grumbles.

“Oh, live a little, you great prude,” you tell him.

“You will not address me in this way --”

“Like fuck I won’t, you disgusting --”

“Now, boys,” says Roxy, slamming down her glass. You both jump a little and look at her. “Dudes. Gentletrolls. Whatever the crap you are. Let me tell you what’s gonna happen here. We will drink some drinks and I’m gonna go dance to this fuck-awful music and we are going to have a delightful evening.” She leans back a little, sizing the both of you up. “And if you want to do any killing of each other, you can do it later, on your own time. But I’m far more interested in you both alive.”

You sit back, adrenaline still amped a little high. Equius shoots a scorching glare at you, though his expression softens when he looks at Roxy. It’s... it’s weird. If she were a troll you’d say she was auspisticizing, but that’s not what this feels like. You don’t feel chastised -- you feel _challenged._ Like she’s daring you instead of settling you.

This might have been a good idea after all.

 

***

This was a terrible idea.

You’ve been arguing with Roxy about programming with an hour. Equius chimed in about engineering ten minutes in, and between the two of them, you’re so frustrated you think your head might explode.

They’re _wrong_ about _everything_.

You are fed up to the teeth with Roxy’s infuriatingly sloppy ideas about everything from programming languages to optimal data structures. When she started in on apiculture systems, that was the straw that broke the humpbeast’s back. You went into full-steam-ahead rage-fueled ranting mode. You’ve been on a blazing harangue for so long that your voice starts to give out. That’s when you notice the wicked gleam in Roxy’s eye, the cruel mocking smile tugging at the corner of Equius’s mouth.

You stutter to a halt mid-sentence, looking back and forth between them.

“Do go on,” says Roxy.

“Holy shit,” you say. “I don’t believe you. You absolute nookstains.” Sometimes you amuse yourself by saying stupid shit to crank KK up until he has steam pouring out his aurals, just for the fun of it. And that’s exactly what these two just did to you, and you didn’t even realize it.

“I believe you were just informing us of the superiority of your systems,” says Equius mildly. “With rhetorical digressions about the relative intelligence of our lusii.”

“And, may I add, some totally uncalled-for commentary on how much bulge we’d need or want to cram in our nooks. Though in some cases,” Roxy says, toying with the cherry from the bottom of her gross human soporific, “your estimates are way off.”

She tugs the cherry off the stem with her teeth. Equius coughs and takes a hurried sip of his drink. Even in the dim light, you can see the darkness of a blue blush start across his cheeks.

“I hate you both,” you say fervently, shocked into honesty.

“And isn’t that appropriate,” says Roxy. She slugs down the last of her drink and leans across the table. “Just a hint, babe? You’re gorgeous when you’re angry.”

You sit there gaping like a fish. “I’m gonna dance,” she says, standing. “Any time you care to pull your bulges out of your waste canals, or whatever the hell you have, you’re welcome to come join!”

And she slips away. The shitty band is still shitty but this crowd seems to love them, and you watch her eel her way into the small but enthusiastic knot of trolls in front of the stage, utterly unselfconscious. She’s infuriating, and sexy as hell, and you don’t know if you’ve ever been so confused.

Particularly when you turn and see Equius watching Roxy, his expression soft, almost rapt, and you can practically see the red hearts pouring out from behind his cracked shades.

You burst out laughing. “What the fuck, EQ,” you say. “You’re flushed for her, aren’t you? Flushed for a human! I never thought I’d see the day.”

He rounds on you with a snarl. “Whatever is going on between us is none of your concern,” he says. “My behavior is nowhere near as shameful as yours. You’ve spent the entire night acting first like a petulant wiggler then like the most brazen pitch-flirt --”

“ _I’m_ acting like a flirt? What about you, mooning around after her? It’s pathetic, and _not_ in the sexy way. At least I’m giving her something to think about.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Humans aren’t capable of black romance.”

“Yeah, well, I know one human who’s been throwing me pretty clear signals all night,” you boast, and maybe you’re exaggerating a little for effect, but wow, it’s hitting home right now how much you want it to be true.

He snorts contemptuously. “As if a creature like Roxy would stoop to your level.”

It’s a weak jab, but the anger flares through you anyway, hot and bright. It feels good. It feels fucking _great_. “And what level would that be, bulgelord? Because if you start spewing hoofbeastshit about the nobility of your blood, I swear by the much-pissed-on grave of the Empress that I’ll blast you into the next perigee. Just try me.”

_Clunk_ goes his glass on the table. He gathers himself like a thundercloud, and you feel a real thrill of adrenaline as you suppress your automatic psionic reaction. He could _flatten_ you if you let him.

He reaches across the table, carefully gathers a fistful of the front of your shirt, and hauls you in. “You are arrogant, petulant, and infuriating,” he rumbles into your face in a voice that manages to out-bass the bass churning from the speakers. “You would be a pustule on the face of trollkind no matter what color ran through your veins. This is not about blood, so _stop assuming it’s all that I care about.”_

There’s such venom in his voice that it takes your breath away.

His claws flex in your shirt, and you grab his wrist, digging your own claws in. “I will not watch,” he growls, “while you make black advances on someone who cannot reciprocate. It’s insulting. It’s insulting to you, and to me, that you would throw yourself away.”

Holy _shit._ Is this a confession? “Who says I’m throwing myself away?” you snarl at him. “When have you ever known me to want just one of anything?”

When that sinks in, you can just see his eyes go wide behind his shades.

“Hey there, boys,” says a voice near your ear. “Need a hand?”

Equius releases you and you drop back in your seat. There leaning by the booth is a troll you’ve never seen, gym-bunny build and middling rack, cerulean by his half-lidded eyes and the sigil on the shirt that fits him like it’s one size smaller than skin. He smells like sugar and booze. When you gape at him, he says, “There’s no cause for such fine trolls like yourselves to go hatin’ on each other. You look like you could use a third.”

He’s nowhere near as big as Equius but he’s probably got thirty pounds on you, most of it muscle, and he’s got these big paws that look like they might be good for slapping people around --

“That will not be necessary,” rumbles Equius. Jegus, you were actually considering it for a second. You must be wasted.

Your new friend blinks, then smiles his oozy smile. “You sure, big boy? The way I see it, I’d fit real nice between --”

Equius’s voice drops an octave. “We are _not_ in need of conciliation,” he growls, and the low harmonics tremble through your bones even despite the noise of the bar: plain as night to your hindbrain, _predator, adult, do not engage, walk away._

The cerulean’s smile falters, and he draws back from you. “All right, all right, suit yourselves,” he says hastily, and makes himself scarce.

“Not in need of conciliation, are we?” you say softly. The adrenaline and sugar and alcohol have twisted into a missile headed straight for your bulge. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Might it not be both?” he says.

You are going to spontaneously combust.

At that moment a warm arm drops around your shoulders, a soft body presses against your side. You shiver at the contact, keyed-up and jumpy. “Ok, enough already,” says Roxy. “This is boring, I’m bored, so stop glaring at each other and get the fuck up and dance with me already!”

She tugs you out of the booth and into the crowd of dancers. Equius watches as you go.

You’ve never really been one for dancing, not because you don’t like the music or can’t move your body, but because you generally haven’t liked the social settings where dancing happens. Here, with Roxy pulling you along by one hand, with Equius’s eyes boring into your back, it’s different. The music is a physical, tangible presence, pressing into you from all sides. When Roxy turns and gets you by the hips, you melt into her, easy as breathing.

The rhythm throbs around you, taking up your whole awareness. It thunders down through your skull and along your bones like someone’s got their hands over your horns, muffling you and driving you. The inside of your head is mercifully quiet.

Roxy turns in your arms and rolls her body against yours, her back to your chest and her ass against your crotch, and everything comes together -- the tension, the flirtation, the music, the sugar fizzing in your veins. You’re suddenly struggling to keep your bulge in its sheath. Her hand snakes up into your hair. You look over your shoulder to see Equius, still watching you from the table, so you maneuver Roxy around so that he can see you both, your hands possessively on her hips, her head rolled back against your shoulder.

Roxy sees where you’re looking, and her cheek curves into a smile against your jaw. She arches back, pressing more deliberately into you. “I see you two playing your little hate-game, you know,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, hips moving against you in maddening little circles in time with the music. “And you should know -- I don’t back down from a challenge.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” you say, lips against her ear, and she laughs, musical and delighted. She turns and drapes her arms around your neck, body pressed against you, and her thigh slots between yours, easy as anything. There’s a flood of heat to your nook.

Over her shoulder, you see Equius slam his glass down on the table and rise. _Fuck yes._

And then he’s blocked from your vision by a faceful of angry troll.

“What the fuck is this,” someone slurs, and you belatedly recognize the cerulean from earlier, the ash hopeful with the boozy breath. “You turn me down and then you start fucking around with a human? What are you, some kind of pervert?”

He’s right up in your face, half a head taller than you and not hesitating to press his size advantage. You poke him right in the overdeveloped pectoral. “You want to step off,” you say.

“Oh, do I want to _thtep off_ , huh, pukeblood?”

“Hey, no need for that,” says Roxy.

He looks down at her and bares all his teeth. “Nobody asked you, hornless,” he sneers. “I could rip you in half and nobody would stop me.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” Roxy’s voice is pleasant but this guy means business. Equius is halfway to you, pushing through the oblivious crowd.

“Yeah, and I think that’s the best idea I’ve had all night. Time to find out what color of swill humans have in their --”

You’re ready with a blast of psionics, judging your best angle to startle him, to hurt him strategically, to deflect the attention from Roxy, but you don’t need it to because fast as lightning she cocks back her arm and punches the cerulean right in the suborbital ridge. There’s a crunch and he goes reeling, windmilling his arms for balance, and he takes out two other trolls as he sits down hard.

There’s a shocked silence around you while the music blasts on. Roxy shakes out her hand ruefully and the cerulean looks up at her in disbelief. For a second you think you might be able to smooth this over, if you could just back away and pay your tab and get out. But then a big boxy troll pushes through the onlookers, bellows, “The _hell_ did you do to my moirail?” and launches herself at you.

_Shit._

There’s nothing for it; it’s a free-for-all. This is the kind of place where the clientele will take any excuse for a brawl, and you’ve just given it to them. You’re dimly aware of Equius wading into the fray, of roars all around you, but you’re busy grappling with the moirail, who bowls you down to the ground as if you were made of twigs. Her fangs snap dangerously close to the end of your nose.

Nearby, there’s a _thwack_ of flesh-on-flesh impact, and someone howls. You’re not sure if the cry came from a human or troll squawk blister, but it could have been anybody. Fuck, it could have been Roxy. She’s been driving you insane all night and you don’t know what to make of her but you suddenly know with dead absolute certainty that nobody is allowed to hurt her. Except maybe you.

That thought is the spark to the powderkeg. Despite the shock and the sugar and haze your psionics are right there when you reach for them, and you feel a fierce exultant joy as the static crackle fills your skin. You lash out and throw the troll off you in a shockwave that knocks her ten feet away. That wasn’t even hard. That wasn’t even a _stretch._ You are an untouchable badass.

You spring to your feet, and get a split-second view of Roxy and Equius, back-to-back, fists raised and near-identical snarls on their faces -- a split-second for your pusher to thunder in your chest in pride and exultation -- before a half-dozen pissed-off trolls crash on them like a wave. You can hear Roxy’s whoop of excitement, and then you dive in.

You’re not much with your fists, particularly against these all-brawn-no-brains hulks, but you carve a swath through them with your psionics with surgical precision. There’s a cry of outrage from nearby, and somebody gets an arm around your neck from behind. You claw at the arm holding you and your fingers come away green. Somebody else socks you hard in the side, so you send a blast of energy back up the way the punch came, and hear a squeal of shock. You crow your triumph and take a swing at the troll behind you. A nose crunches under your elbow.

You feel amazing. You feel so _alive_. You feel --

\-- the clamp of a huge fist on your upper arm, and you whirl, ready to blast whoever-it-is into oblivion, when you see Equius, breathing heavily.

“Enough,” he barks, and points toward the bar, where the bouncer and the mean-looking bartender are advancing in your direction, stunners in hand, firing into the brawling crowd.

“Oh, shit,” you say. “Where’s Roxy?”

You find her kneeling on top of the cerulean who started it all, who lies face-down kicking weakly while Roxy digs her knees into his filtration sponges and yanks his head around by his angled horns. “And that’s why you shouldn’t harass people who’ve already said they’re not interested,” she says cheerfully, accentuating her words with a jerk to his horn. “Also, all the bigoted anti-human stuff? Pretty much a dick move, bro. Which is impressive for someone who doesn’t technically have one.” You snort out a completely inappropriate laugh, and she looks up. “Oh, hey, guys! Fun date, right?”

The three of you make it out the back door just as the bouncer starts throwing trolls around. Equius drops a fistful of bills on your table as you go careening by, which you find somehow equal parts aggravating and charming.

You’re snickering by the time you’re halfway down the back alley, and Roxy casts you a sidelong look and catches your hand, grinning. There’s still a troubling amount of crashing and shouting from inside the bar so you tacitly decide to put more distance between yourselves and the trouble you started. One block away and Roxy is laughing too hard to walk straight; a block and a half and you’re leaning on each other, gasping for breath. You’re buzzed on the aftermath of excitement. Equius looks back the way you came, scowling.

“Look out, EQ,” you wheeze out. “They may still be coming after us.”

“Run for cover,” says Roxy, giggling. “This alley should do the trick, yeah?” She grabs you by one hand and Equius by the other, pulling you into the dark alleyway. You stumble around trash cans and past a dumpster. Shit, at this point you don’t even care. The night is getting progressively more ridiculous and you’re just going to go with it.

“That was exceedingly foolish,” says Equius, looming up over you. His hands are balled into massive fists. “Either of you could have been injured. Any of us could have been arrested. We could have --”

“Equius, honey,” says Roxy, “please shut up.” And she grabs him by the front of his shirt and pushes him against the brick wall -- in his surprise, he lets himself be pushed -- goes up on tiptoe, and kisses him.

It’s not a long kiss, but it’s sweet and deep and not the kind of kiss that people usually let other people see. It hits you at point-blank range, and your face heats up as you watch. His hands come up to hold her carefully against him. When she bites his lower lip, you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

She pulls back and looks at you. “C’mere, nerd,” she says, and tugs you in with a hand cupped around the back of your neck. You go willingly.

Her lips are soft and plush, and she tastes like sugar and a dark heady flavor that can only be her human chemistry. When she opens to you, you lick the blunt edges of her flat teeth, the ridged roof of her mouth. She catches the bifurcated points of your tongue with hers. And as you press against her, you’re keenly aware of Equius’s thigh against yours, the coiled muscular presence of him.

When you pull back from Roxy, he’s looking at you, his mouth in a flat line. You reach up and snatch his dark glasses away, and he lets you. His eyes are heavy-lidded and intent.

“Captor,” he says in his low rumble. “I don’t know what your intentions are but if you’re treating this like a game --”

“Not a game,” you say, breathing hard.

“Because I promise you I will tear you limb from limb.”

“Like I’d let you, you great walking nightmare. I’d rip your atoms apart before I let you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he says, and there it is, there’s the snarl in his voice that sends a shiver of anger down your bones.

“Oh, just watch me,” you say.

“Ugh! Boring!” chirps Roxy. “Will you just fucking kiss each other already?”

“You,” you say deliberately and slowly, “are the _worst._ ” And you lean forward and kiss him hard enough to bang his head back against the wall, hard enough that his shitty broken teeth dig into your lip, hard enough and harder.

He makes the barest suggestion of a groan back in his throat and melts against you, just a little, just enough. You roll your hips against him, feel the way he tenses, the way his stomach hollows out as he fights his own body’s urge to grind against you. You slip your knee between his, and rub the top of your thigh into his groin, imagine his nook growing swollen, his bulge swelling in its sheath --

There are fingers twisting into your hair, and you turn to see Roxy. She’s got her other hand wrapped around Equius’s horn, and his eyes are half-closed, head tilting into her touch. “You two are effing hot,” she breathes, “and I’m starting to feel a little left out.”

You tug her in between your bodies, and she arches back against Equius, pulling his head down and over her shoulder for a kiss. The twist of her head exposes the long column of her throat, and you kiss her there, lips traveling down. You can feel the heat of her pulse, her thin hot human blood running below the surface, and you suck carefully at the skin. She gasps and writhes between your body and Equius’s, and you do it again an inch lower.

“Oh God, Sollux,” she murmurs. You grin against her throat. Humans seem to bruise so easily, so beautifully, it’s a wonder they’re not a perpetual mess.

Then Roxy’s fingers slip under your shirt and her nails scrape hard over the sensitive bands of skin around your grubleg scars, and you moan.

“Quiet,” hisses Equius. Roxy laughs low and runs her nails over you again, and you sob out another moan, noisier and more wanton. You hear Equius make a _tch_ of frustration, but you’re busy returning the favor, slipping your hands up under Roxy’s shirt, prickling over her skin with your clawtips.

She hooks her fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and pulls you closer. You feel the give of her body as you press against her, then further give as she leans back into Equius.

“Well, this is nice,” she says, a hitch in her voice. “Lucky me, the filling in a hot interspecies sandwich.” You feel her roll her hips back against Equius, and he chokes off a little grunt, like he doesn’t want to make any noise, like he’s clinging to his self-control, and you are seized with the desire to tear him apart, reduce him to a sobbing wreck.

Later, perhaps. Right now you’re busy kissing your way down Roxy’s low neckline while she rocks her head back against Equius’s chest. She puts her hands on your shoulders and pushes you firmly downward. You make a token show of shrugging her off, but you don’t really fight her, and when she pushes down again you go to your knees willingly. You lock eyes with her, curl your hands around the backs of her knees, slide your hands up until you’re edging under the hem of her short skirt.

She grins wickedly down at you. “Go on,” she says. “I’ve been wanting to find out what you can do with that tongue all night.”

Equius makes a choked noise. Part of you hates to acquiesce to her so readily, but the rest of you wants to make him suffer, embarrass him, fluster him, make him desperate.

You push your hands up, exposing the silky-soft skin of her thighs an inch at a time, until your fingers brush over the lace edge of her panties and you can stroke over the lush curves of her ass. You lean in and kiss her inner thigh, then nip at the skin, enough to make her jump and stifle a laugh. You do it again an inch higher, and she’s not laughing anymore.

You’ve messed around with humans before, though only with guys, and while you’ve heard of their bizarre sexual dimorphism and watched human porn you’ve never experienced it first-hand. So it’s with some eagerness that you rub your thumb over the fabric at the juncture of her thighs, feeling the soft give of the flesh beneath. She hums appreciatively, so you do it again, then hook the elastic edge and tug it aside.

Velvety-soft skin, covered with coarse gold curls trimmed short. The smell of her is rich and musky and complex, like earth and food and summer nights when the world is too teeming with life to sleep. You want more. You pull at her underwear, and she beats you to it, reaching under her skirt and shimmying the black lace off her hips. You pull it the rest of the way down until she can step out of them.

You wad the scraps of black lace in your hand. “Catch,” you say, and you throw them at Equius’s face.

He splutters and fumbles at them. You snicker at him, then tilt Roxy’s hips back. She spreads her legs, and you pull at the back of one knee until she lifts her leg and drapes it over your shoulder.

“Roxy, this is --” you hear Equius say weakly, and you go at her in earnest.

She twitches and shudders at the touch of your mouth. There’s a slit, a fold of skin, which you nudge open with tongue and fingers to reveal more ripples and folds. You suck at these and she positively moans. There’s slick wetness here, and a little bud of flesh that grows stiff under your tongue. When you close your lips around it and flicker your tongue there, she bucks her hips in your grip.

“Yes, A-plus, very good, Sollux, go to the head of the class,” she gasps out, laughing.

So you stay there, licking and sucking at that spot that makes her go boneless, ignoring the swelling heavy need that’s growing in your abdomen. You reach back a little farther between her legs, slide your hand up Equius’s thigh, and cup your palm hard over where the slit of his sheath must be.

He jumps like you’ve electrocuted him, nearly upsetting Roxy’s careful one-legged balance. “Sollux,” he says warningly.

You _hmmm?_ innocently against Roxy, which makes her squirm. After a few seconds of holding still, you rub your palm a little over Equius’s sheath, and he makes that choked noise again and goes silent. When you do it again, he pushes his hips jerkily against your hand.

Fucking _score._

Roxy is trembling now, the little gasps of her inhales making a sweet counterpoint to the wet sounds of the points of your tongue on her skin. You pull her in tighter. Equius’s arm goes around her waist, taking more of her weight. He’s pushing rhythmically against your hand now, and you can just imagine his bulge, desperate to unsheathe, swollen and needy. If it’s any match for the rest of him, it must be huge. Your own nook gives a throb and a flutter at the thought of him, heavy and thick, pushing you open --

Then Roxy gets you by the horns, fingers twining between the large and small pairs, and the vibration echoes all down your spine and straight to your nook. You grind against the inseam of your jeans. You look up along her body; she’s arching back, muscles straining, skirt up around her hips, and Equius’s big hands are splayed over her, one across her stomach, one across her collarbones. His head is bent down over her shoulder, a curtain of dark hair falling down, and his eyes meet yours, black and wild.

You curl your fingers down to press against where the opening of his nook should be, and his mouth drops open, a horrible combination of lust and despair painted on his face.

“Ah -- _ah -- ahh!”_ Roxy cries softly and convulses, her body going into hard rhythmic shudders. But she doesn’t let go of you, so you keep going, coaxing every shudder out of her.

At last she pushes you away, breathing hard. You sit back on your aching knees, licking the taste of her off your mouth. “So human females get the prize for least messy orgasm, hands down,” you say.

She laughs, breathless. “Some of the time, anyway,” she says. “Sorry if you’re disappointed at the lack of technicolor spooge. Gimme some time and I can probably improvise something with tempura paints.” She arches back lazily against Equius as you rock to your feet, then pulls you in for a kiss.

Equius growls under his breath, a subsonic rumble that sets all your nerve endings alight with warring signals of danger and _oh god hot._

“Then again,” you say softly, considering, “it might not be hard to produce our own technicolor display, given how things are going.”

“No,” says Equius firmly. “If we are taking this any farther, we are not doing so in a squalid alleyway. We will go to my hive.”

Roxy’s eyebrows go up. “That sounds like an invitation I can’t pass up.”

Much as you like the idea of bending Equius over and fucking him against a brick wall, your mental image abruptly shifts to him laid out on a concupiscent platform while you ride his bulge. Or, better yet, watching helplessly while Roxy fucks you senseless. Your bulge gives a desperate squirm inside your sheath and you cover your body’s reaction as best you can with a shrug. “Sounds ok to me,” you say, nonchalantly as you can. “Lead the way.”

 

 

***

Equius’s place turns out to be a gorgeous old brownstone townhive, surprisingly elegant and tastefully appointed as long as you don’t dwell on the framed art and omnipresent musclebeast figurines. It’s not as bad as when he was a kid -- the art pieces are in more muted colors, more impressionistic and less explicit, the figurines smaller -- but you still don’t want to look too closely.

And anyway you don’t care about the decor. There’s a big black tanned beasthide sectional sofa which Roxy flings herself down on, and that’s good enough for you.

“Ok, boys,” she says, crossing her long legs. You’re vividly aware that she’s not wearing anything under that short skirt. “Strip.”

“Make me,” you say with a grin.

“Mmm, tempting, but nope,” she says. “I want _him_ to make you.” She jerks her chin toward Equius, who is hovering by the door.

“I have a perfectly serviceable respiteblock upstairs, with -- uh --”

“Bzzzt! Denied,” says Roxy, stretching her arms out along the top of the sofa. “We’re doing this right here. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Do you need some help figuring out the concept?” you say, prowling around Equius in a circle while he seethes. “You see, when two grownup trolls hate each other very much --”

“That will not be necessary,” he says, and his hands curl into fists.

When he gets like this, you just want to push him until he snaps. “-- then they take off all their clothes and they kiss each other in a special way --”

“Sollux, I swear to you I will --”

“And they do unspeakably lewd things to each other’s bulges, and --”

With a snarl he grabs you by the upper arms. There’s no real need for you to fear but you still love the thrill of danger that prickles over you, and your psionics crackle over your skin. “You,” he grits out, ”will shut your vile mouth.” And he kisses you hard enough to snap your head back, so that your lip mashes painfully against your own crooked fangs. Roxy applauds, laughing at you.

When he pulls back, breathing fast, you give him your sweetest smile. “Good try,” you say, “but I’m still stronger than you.” And you reach out with your psionics, precise as a surgeonnihilst’s scalpel, and delicately split the seams of all his clothing, shoulder to wrist, armpit to waist, hip to ankle. He gives the most beautifully undignified yelp as the scraps of fabric flutter to the ground around his ankles.

Roxy hoots and wolf-whistles. “Yes, good, I like the way this is proceeding,” she says.

Equius still has you by the arms. “You know, that’s a trick you can only use once,” he says.

“True, but there’s more where that came from.” You run a warning spark up his bare arm, watch the muscle in his bicep jump.

“Do your worst,” he says, and he turns you, traps you against his body, strips you slowly and methodically out of your clothes. You send sparks all over him, static-sharp and painful, and he twitches at the feeling but never stops what he’s doing. You could throw him off you with a blast without batting an eye, but truth to tell, you’re enjoying this too much.

It makes you wonder what else you could do to him, what else he could withstand.

He’s careful and thorough, with the maddening gentleness of someone who has had to learn exactly how delicate to be, and by the time he’s got you out of your clothes you’re shivering with need, the twin tips of your bulge emerging from your sheath. Roxy sits forward on the sofa, eyes bright and hungry.

“Ok,” she says. “That’s a pretty decent start.” You generally couldn’t care less about your body -- you usually think of it as a mostly adequate, occasionally annoying vehicle for carting around your brain -- but the way her eyes rake over you makes you preen, makes you feel heavy with power and potential. “Now, that bulge,” she says, tilting her head on one side and considering, “I think we need to get more of that baby out to play. Equius, darlin’, you wanna work on that?”

“As you say,” he rumbles, and his voice transmits through his thoracic cavity and into your back. You sneak a look over your shoulder at him; a deep blue blush suffuses his face.

“Finally getting ordered around the way you want, huh, EQ?” you say even as his hand creeps down your abdomen and you twitch in anticipation.

“Shut your presumptuous mouth.”

“Not until you give me something better to _\-- oh, shit --”_ With his hand pressed low to your belly, he strokes softly over the slender sensitive tips of your bulge. They immediately wrap around his fingers, and he runs his thumb over the tips, trapping them gently. You grunt your approval. Then, all unexpectedly, he tugs on the tips, pulling your entire bulge out another inch out of your sheath. You clench down in shock. It feels like he’s pulling at the root of your body.

“ _Fuck_ , Equius, what the hell was that?”

He chuckles warm and dark in your ear.

“Do that again,” says Roxy, and you squirm fruitlessly in his grip.

He strokes and squeezes your bulge just enough so that you relax, so that your sheath starts to feel warm and slippery and dilated again, then without warning he pulls again. You yelp involuntarily and convulse against him but he’s got you firmly clamped in place with his forearm over your chest. Then he’s back to the rhythmic stroking and pressure, loosening you up, before another firm tug.

You writhe in his arms and curse at him. You’ve never had your bulge _pulled out_ before -- you’ve only ever coaxed yourself out or been teased out by others -- and the sensation is unnerving and uncomfortable and hot as hell all at the same time. He seems to be a practiced hand at this, which you can only take to mean that this is the way he touches himself. And _that_ sends a flood of heat right to your nook, imagining him hunched and desperate, pulling his bulge out of his sheath bit by agonized bit, enjoying the dull ache and drag of it --

On his next pull, you zap him sharply with your psionics, high on his inner thigh. He twitches against you and you feel the unmistakeable squirm of his bulge emerging. You grind your ass back against it, quick and mean. He pushes his hips against you jerkily, and there’s more of his bulge now against your ass, enticingly thick.

With the cacophony of signals to your brain you’ve almost forgotten about Roxy, until she rises and comes toward you. She’s still clothed, for some inconceivable reason.

“You know, I could take care of your clothes just as easily as I did EQ’s,” you say, voice none too steady.

“Don’t you even think of it,” she says. “I like this shirt.” And she crosses her arms and whips it off over her head, and you decide you like her way just fine.

Her mammary glands, which are analogous to trolls’ rumble spheres but whose biological function isn’t actually obsolete, are round and perky and barely contained by the little scraps of black lace that constitute her sphere girdle. You’d like to get your hands on them. You’d like to get your _tongue_ on them. You’d like to do anything that’s not being slowly tortured by a sweaty douchelord’s hands all over your junk.

Your bulge is nearly fully out, and Roxy steps smoothly in and runs her hands down your torso, lingering over your grub scars. Her fingertips trail down your stomach and perilously close to your bulge. When her hand veers away to your hip, you groan.

“Needy, huh, buddy?” she says.

“Can you blame me?” you say, elbowing Equius sharply in the gut and struggling out of his hold at last. “Get over here already.”

Her body is warm and soft when she presses against you, and the feel of her skin and Equius’s body behind you are both a blessed relief and a maddening tease. When she kisses you, though, there’s nothing soft about it -- she’s all nipping teeth and challenge, and you want to fight her, push her, make her fight you back.

She takes you with one hand and Equius with the other and draws you over to the sofa. You drop onto it, looking up at her while she undoes her skirt and shimmies out of it. When she climbs into your lap, smiling that wicked smile, you reach behind her and deftly flick open the fastening of her sphere girdle. The look of surprise on her face is totally worth it.

“You’re good at that,” she says while you pull the straps down her arms.

You’d reply conversationally about how you’re good at a lot of things, but you’re too busy following your fingers with little sucking kisses, all over her soft human skin. Her rumble spheres are topped with stiff peaks of flesh and she yelps when you squeeze them between your fingers.

Behind her, Equius makes a noise like a strangled groan. You look up, lock eyes with him, and very deliberately pull Roxy closer so that your bulge can flicker up and over those warm, gorgeously soft folds between her legs.

She moans softly, and reaches down with her hand to cup your bulge, directing the slender tips to where she wants them. Her eyes flutter closed. The feeling is incredible -- the squeeze of her hand, the softness of her skin, the way her body writhes against you. Occasionally she drags the tips farther back, where they can just start to wriggle into the soft tight opening there, then she pulls you out again.

You groan under her, holding her thighs so tightly you’re probably leaving bruises. You want to plunge into her. Your nook is blazing with need.

You don’t even notice that Equius is gone until he comes back. He bends to put something on the ground and there’s the unmistakeable clatter of a pail on his hardwood floor.

At your frankly astonished look, he scowls. “What?”

“I’m surprised you even have one of those,” you say. “You know how to use it and everything?”

Only Equius could manage to look so transparently lofty, indignant, and flustered all at the same time. “I do my duty to the mother grub,” he says, and you roll your eyes so hard it’s practically audible.

You sneer, “ _I do my duty to the--”_

Roxy’s fingers press over your mouth, her eyes still closed, face blissful. “Shhh,” she says. “Sex toys don’t talk.”

“Oh, I’m a sex toy now, am I?” you mutter muffled against her fingers.

“ _Mmhmm,”_ she hums, “an’ I’m gonna use you ‘til the battery runs down.”

You burst out laughing.

“Shut up, that was a good line,” she says, unrepentant. Then she slides the tips of your bulge down, and they burrow immediately for the heat of her -- an inch, maybe two -- and your laughter turns to a moan.

Equius is still hovering, watching every look on her face with a hunger that makes you squirm. “You going to join in, or you just content to watch?” you say, and your voice is whiny and breathy even in your own ears, but you’re so far gone you don’t even care.

Roxy opens her eyes, and her pupils have done that human thing, wide and black with lust. She catches Equius by the hand and tugs him closer, then closer still.

He resists when he sees where she’s heading. “Roxy -- I hardly think that this is appropriate --”

“Appropriate schmappropriate. You let me decide what’s appropriate.” she says, but there’s no bite in her voice, just invitation.

She pulls him the final few inches closer, so that he’s standing over both of you and his half-emerged bulge is right in her face, wriggling fitfully. “Hi,” she says, smiling up at him with tenderness that makes your pusher clench just for a second, then she leans in and licks from the bottom of the slit of his sheath up the inches of his bulge right to the blunt tapered tip.

He groans, all his muscles tensing, and as you watch his bright blue bulge pushes another half-inch out of his sheath. She positively coos, stroking over his bulge with her fingers before going in for another lick.

EQ’s face softens, mouth dropping open and a heavy crease appearing between his brows, and as you watch the tremors of his body your bulge lashes against Roxy’s hand.

You can’t help it; you want to be inside her. With just enough claw so she can feel it but not enough to actually do damage, you drag your fingers up her inner thigh, then wrap your hand around hers on your bulge, and move it farther back.

She looks at you, traces of Equius’s blue on her lips. “Can I?” you say.

In answer, she wriggles further down toward you.

Your bulge gets the message soon enough. It presses and squirms and coils its way into her, the gorgeous tight heat of her, and she moans, the blush rising in her cheeks. You take her by the hips and pull her down, spreading her knees wider. She feels incredible -- different from a troll’s nook, but amazing, soft and ridged and yielding. Your bulge squirms a certain way and she throws back her head, gasping, “Oh, God, Sollux!”

Equius looks positively pained, staring down at you. You snicker nastily. “Looks like I’ve got the best side of this bargain,” you say.

Roxy’s eyes snap open. “Yeah, you may have spoken too soon,” she says, and leans in to take the tip of EQ’s bulge fully into her mouth.

You realize belatedly that the choked noise of shock came from you. Even with those blunt human teeth, she could do some serious damage to the delicate skin of his bulge. He must trust her so, so much.

And then she circles her hips, and the squeeze on your bulge makes your eyes roll back in your head. You lose track of time, lose yourself in the push and pull of her body as she shivers and shudders around you, the clench of her muscles around your bulge. You’re also treated to a personal show of EQ’s frankly phenomenal bulge emerging bit by bit, encouraged by her lips and tongue and fingers, while he makes agonized sounds. You hold her hips hard against you so you can thrash inside her, and she bucks against you, one hand dropping to rub tight little circles between her legs.

When she cries out and her body convulses, you are all unexpectedly sparked into your own orgasm -- just a small one, only your bulge, releasing nothing more than a few drops of material into Roxy’s nook. Your own nook aches with emptiness even as you shudder through a climax that teeters on the edge of pain.

You open your eyes, desperate and needy. Roxy is grinning down at you, flushed and happy from her climax, but Equius is watching too, you’re sure he knows what you’re feeling. The way he fingers his bulge makes you chirr and whine for him.

“Get down here,” you say as Roxy climbs off your lap.

“And why should I?”

“You’re going to start playing coy with me now? You’re kidding me, right?”

Roxy laughs, delighted. “Sollux, you’ve been such an asshole all evening, it would just serve you right if he refused.”

The thought makes you absolutely churn. “Equius, I swear to fuck, I will blow up every computer you’ve ever owned and all the ones you haven’t bought yet. I will turn your robots against you. I will wreck everything you’ve ever loved. I will come back from the fucking dead to haunt your ugly ass if you don’t come put your _bulge in my fucking nook.”_

He snarls at you, but it works, because the next thing you know he’s kneeling between your knees and he tugs your ass right to the edge of the cushions, then his bulge is against the opening of your nook, pressing inside, and _holy shit_ you are being split in half.

His bulge is thick, thicker than any you’ve ever taken, and from your earlier orgasm your nook is soft and swollen and pliant for him as he pushes inside. You throw your head back and howl. The coolness of his skin and fluids is a contrast with the memory of Roxy’s fever-warm flesh and the sensation lights up all your nerve endings, hot and cold, soft and hard, pressure and slide, red and blue.

Then EQ digs his claws into your thighs and pulls you possessively closer, burying himself in you, and your brain nearly shorts out.

Your bulge swells and squirms anew, writhing over your stomach, and Roxy drags her nails down your chest, long matching lines of bright sparking pain. When she takes your bulge in hand, you howl. You can’t take much more. You are driving higher and higher, faster and deeper, and your mind is a constant fevered cry of pleasure and oversensitivity dancing on the edge of pain. Roxy squeezes you mercilessly, leaning in to kiss Equius. He groans and pistons his hips, bulge slipping in an out of your greedy clutching nook, and every time he drives back in you feel like you’re within millimeters of losing control of your psionics and blasting a searing bolt straight through the ceiling.

It’s all too much -- you want to outlast him, you want to make him as desperate as he’s making you, but you’re strung out on the feeling of them, like his body is driving out every capability of your own to think or process or regulate. It’s like a three-day coding bender; it’s like flying blind. You know you’re headed for a crash, and you don’t care if it kills you -- you want to burn.

And then he pulls out, and you nearly scream.

“Why the blistering _fuck_ did you stop?”

“Because I don’t want you painting my livingblock with your genetic material, you disgusting excuse for a troll,” he says, and he sits on the sofa, setting the bucket on the floor between his feet. “Captor, come here.”

“Oh, you just expect me to hop when you say so?” you snipe at him, but it’s an empty jibe, because you’re already climbing over his lap and settling there, facing away so you don’t have to watch him. With his big hands he grips the tops of your thighs, pulls you over his bulge, and guides the tip to your nook.

It’s the best and worst thing you’ve ever felt, and you sob in eagerness and agony when he pulls you firmly back by the hips and his bulge plunges in to the root.

It doesn’t take long until the stretch and pressure and slide of his skin have you teetering on the edge. Equius’s hands knead at your hips, your ass. You sneak a look back behind you. Roxy is leaning her head against Equius’s shoulder, her hand moving lazily between her legs, and she shoots you a heavy-lidded smile. You wrap your hand around your bulge just the way you like, firm and quick strokes, rubbing your thumb into the sensitive juncture where the tips split off. You are so close, riding the edge --

And then Equius’s hands squeeze and part your glutes, and his thumb strokes deliberately through your crack and over your waste chute, and it’s such a possessive declaration of kismesissitude -- nobody’s done that to you before, not ever -- that your nook clenches and flutters, and before you can stop yourself the pleasure washes over you in long hot waves, and you’re pulsing over your fist and into the bucket on the floor.

He doesn’t let you go until you’re squirming and oversensitive and shouting at him, and then finally you can crawl off his lap, the long heavy length of his bulge slipping out of you, to collapse in a boneless heap beside him on the sofa.

Two orgasms. You feel like everything in the universe is whole and perfect and complete. You may never move again.

When you recover enough of your brain to open your eyes, you hear soft voices. Roxy and Equius are murmuring to each other, kissing, and it’s all so disgustingly flushed that you don’t know whether to abscond and leave them to it or stay and make their lives more difficult.

You being you, you stay.

She has her hand down between his legs, fingers deep in his nook, and he is stroking at his bulge, long slow squeezes from base to tip. You’re pretty near exhausted but with the last remaining flickers of your energy, you reach out with your psionics, draw a tingling line up his leg, watching him twitch, and then you shoot off sparks deep in his nook, deeper than Roxy’s fingers, deeper than any but the most freakishly long bulges could ever get.

He _howls._ He jumps like you’ve electrocuted him, and just like that, his bulge pulses and swells and squirms in his hand, gushing his rich blue material into the bucket below, and you laugh and laugh.

He sags back onto the couch cushions, panting. Roxy leans forward and peers into the pail. "Hey look, you  _do_ average out to turquoise."

Equius snorts in what would be indignation if he could muster it, then his eyes snap open, murderous.

“Captor,” he says fervently, “I hate you. I hate you beyond words.”

His rancor feels like a benediction. “Hate you too, asslord,” you say. “Hate you both.”

“Really?” says Roxy, and you blink blearily at her. “Because, come on, I could tell that you and Eq were building up some real true malice tonight, and I was happy to be along for the ride. But I don’t know if I qualify.”

“Maybe it’s not the same kind of hate,” you say slowly. “Not hate in the want-to-rip-your-guts-out sense. But you feel like a rival. You feel like a _challenge._ ” You feel a slow smile spread on your face. “And maybe someday you can grow to be truly hateful.”

She cocks her head to the side, then bends to whisper in Equius’s ear. He hums thoughtfully. “Yes,” he says, “yes, that might work nicely.”

“What? What might work?”

“This,” says Roxy, and pounces.

Which is how you find yourself sprawled out supine, Roxy holding down your wrists held up above your head, Equius kneeling on your spread thighs. You spark feebly with your psionics but not enough to dislodge either of them, and you screech and howl to no avail.

“Poor baby, thought he could handle two kismeses,” Roxy says gleefully. “Do you want us to stop? Because we’ll stop if you want.”

“Fuck you! No, don’t stop!”

Equius’s hands are maddeningly gentle, working thick fingers up inside your nook while stroking your desperately over-sensitized bulge, long slow pulls. You thrash but he doesn’t stop, and with something like terror you can feel another orgasm coming, building like a storm.

And still his hands work at you, and still they hold you down, and you give yourself over to it, your body wracked with spasms and your bulge spurting what feels like the last of your life-force out over your stomach.

Three. Three orgasms, the worst number there could possibly be.

You’re distantly aware of Equius mopping at the mess on your stomach while Roxy’s hands soothe your wrists, your arms. “I’ll get you back,” you say, aware that you’re slurring your words, as Equius hauls you upright, drags you step by painful step upstairs. There’s a recuperacoon, deep and wide and cool. “I swear I will.”

“That’s right, of course you will,” says Roxy from the padded couch nearby, burrowing into the blankets and cushions there. “Go to sleep, you disaster.”

And you promise to yourself that you will wreck them down to the ground, you will think up the most exquisite torments, yours will be the hate they remember for the rest of their miserable lives. Just as soon as you can walk in a straight line again.

You close your eyes, elbow EQ firmly in the ribs, and let sleep drag you down.


End file.
